


Promise To Love Me.

by SS98



Series: Promise. [2]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Bottom Louis, Cute Louis, Dominant Harry, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Jealous Harry, Jealous Louis, Light Angst, M/M, Protective Harry, Protective Louis, Recreational Drug Use, Rugby Player Harry, Sassy Louis, Smut, Top Harry, University Student Harry, University Student Louis, trigger warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-12
Updated: 2017-07-12
Packaged: 2018-12-01 07:48:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11481873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SS98/pseuds/SS98
Summary: “What are you doing?” Louis came to sit at the foot of the bed where Harry was hunched over something.Unsurprisingly, Harry was eager to test out his latest purchase and was hard at work cleaning up the projector without compromising its design. “Thinking of watching a movie with this thing tonight.”“Oh.” Louis picked up a stray screwdriver and twirled it between his fingers. “Can I come?”When Harry raised his head he was rattled by the calm over Louis’ features, as if the question he just posed was entirely plausible. He leaned across a short distance to kiss the boy’s lips, feeling them arch into a grin against his mouth. “Yeah, baby. I need my kitten with me at all times.”





	Promise To Love Me.

“ _Ow, motherf-_ ” Harry withdrew his hand from the shabbily pitched picnic table displaying umpteen things which are all on sale today. He studied the shallow wound on his thumb before holding it to his lips and licking off the faint crimson droplet.

To his left a mother was assuring her twin girls that they’d be able to play with their new dolls after they’ve eaten their dinner. The children of this house-owner were jumping in their treehouse meters above Harry’s head until he moved away. Harry wonders if Louis will find a toy that’s mesmerising enough for Harry to play parent as well.

Louis wanted to be here and of course that meant Harry would willingly accompany his boy even if the words _yard sale_ made his skin crawl. Harry is not a firm admirer of second-hand objects waltzing into his home with their countless diseases and in their decrepit conditions. Somehow, his new housemate managed to make purchasing used belongings sound tolerable. ‘ _They have souls, Harry. It’s like they have their own stories to tell and I wanna hear ‘em so go put on some pants.’_

They were here because Louis has just moved his boxes into Harry’s house – _their_ home now – so he decided to celebrate via taking a trip to a garage sale down the street. Louis was thrilled to be part of the suburbs and not the rank, noisy city whilst it lay only a few minutes away by car.

Presently Harry has to put up with being surrounded by junk while Louis retrieved random items of his fancy. First was an oil painting of a puppy litter which Harry instantly refused; the face painting set that followed made Harry’s life flash before his eyes. That which they agreed on seemed to just be two first edition novels by authors neither had heard of and a set of sketching pencils. Harry had a penchant for art – both viewing and conjuring – so Louis encouraged him not to shy away from a canvas.

Louis had gotten the man running this fiasco to ring up his choices and stood bargaining with him for twenty minutes while Harry monitored them. It was almost shocking to see Louis pretend to cry when his companion would not budge, then walk away with a proud grin after winning.

“Must you reign terror everywhere, kitten?” Harry welcomed his boy back with an arm winding around Louis’ waist, lowering his lips to kiss Louis’ forehead.

Louis was remorseless. “He asked for thirty bucks when this is only worth twelve _at most._ ”

“Alright, love. Ready to go?” Harry looked at his bulkier than life wristwatch for the time. The sunset was already beginning to fan out in glimmering satin threads of flared orange and magenta.

Surprisingly, it was not Louis who stopped them when they were close to the sidewalk again. Harry had stopped something even with the rapidly dimming sunlight and flickering streetlights jarring his vision. It lay on a plastic lawn chair in dusty neglect, the brand label from having peeled off with age and use. He tugged a confused Louis along to closer examine the object.

“A projector?” Louis sneezed when a gust of wind got under his shirt, a grimace forming on his face as if he could lash out at the weather itself.

Harry saw that the slightly scratched but still functional projector device was going for fifty bucks and stood in consideration of how desperately he wanted it. He has always thought a projector’s purpose was coveted and much more thrilling than an ordinary television.

“Might be cool.” Harry offers a meaningless shrug while he turns over the contraption to check its finer details. “Don’t you think?”

Louis knows he dragged Harry all the way here practically as an unnecessary fieldtrip to bide time during their afternoon together, so he will be the last one who tears the man away when he’s found something of preference.

“Might be cool.” He supplies truthfully when already his mind has begun to create images of cosy movie nights. “You getting it?”

Harry remains silent for a little while after Louis asks the question so he exhales loudly and turns to redirect his attention.

“Lou?” Harry turned to his bored but silent partner in deliberation.

The boy paused his inspection of a nearby knife-stand. “Hmm?”

“Think you can bargain for me on this one?”

*    *    *    *    *

Unpacking his boxes is not what Louis wanted to do with his evening and he made sure everyone knew it by means of his consistent groans, mewls and grumbled complaints under his breath. Gemma completely retired after Louis strolled into the kitchen with a new rip on his T-shirt searching for bandaids after cutting himself on a Stanley knife. She’d taken the last of her personal belongings to the flat Louis vacated just the day before, and would begin searching for a roommate as soon as time permits.

Harry applauded Louis when the boy walked back into their now shared bedroom with his dreadfully bland plasters in an X over his wound. He gladly took the bullet – a projectile pillow – to his head when Louis retaliated.

“What are you doing?” Louis came to sit at the foot of the bed where Harry was hunched over something.

Unsurprisingly, Harry was eager to test out his latest purchase and was hard at work cleaning up the projector without compromising its design. “Thinking of watching a movie with this thing tonight.”

“Oh.” Louis picked up a stray screwdriver and twirled it between his fingers. “Can I come?”

When Harry raised his head he was rattled by the calm over Louis’ features, as if the question he just posed was entirely plausible. He leaned across a short distance to kiss the boy’s lips, feeling them arch into a grin against his mouth. “Yeah, baby. I need my kitten with me at all times.”

That was enough to send Louis back to work with a little mischief playing in the blue of his eyes. Harry decided to let that slide momentarily as he found a jobless, crisp bedsheet and ironed it out so not a single crease would disrupt the image projected onto it. It was quite a hassle shifting around his bedroom furniture after that so nothing was against the southerly wall where Harry pinned the bedsheet at four corners, drawing it out to be taut. He situated a low stand against the foot of the bed where the projector would sit and connected it to his laptop for a test run.

Louis took a shower while Harry immersed himself in the workings of his new toy; he gets to see the man thusly absorbed in his occupation only when he’s on the field and this is refreshing. Harry has dirtied hands by the time Louis walks out of the bathroom, with little slits in the skin from fixing whatever was not to his standard in the projector’s innards. It will suffice to say that studying for an ironclad degree in engineering has made Harry paranoid about technology that is not custom.

“Would now be the right time to mention that we don’t have any popcorn?” Louis speaks up from the closet where he’s dressing himself in sweatpants which had its legs chopped off mid-thigh. He blames _Jefferson’s B &G _for making him so fond of bare skin above the knee.

Harry pauses in his mission to find clothing for after his shower. Two things strike him about Louis’ remark: the fact that they have no popcorn and that Louis said _we_ in referral to _their_ home with _their_ groceries. “Um- That’s fine. We’ll go get some after I clean up.”

“Can I wear my pyjamas?” Louis is already battling to suppress his yawns and doing a notably poor job of it, but his eyes are shimmering with the slightest unshed tears and that makes him precious enough to obey.

“Of course.”

Louis raised a questioning brow. “Because last time you said I could and then didn’t let me get out of the car.”

Harry chuckled at the recollection of his trying to get snacks for them to watch _Dr Seuss’ The Lorax._ He’ll go to his grave with the stinging memory of Louis crying when the first tree was chopped down and the forest creatures made a circular grave of stone around it. Louis went out the next day and started a garden in Harry’s backyard that has since bloomed into an extravagant array of colours below their balcony.

“If you recall correctly-” Harry rested his hands on Louis’ bare hips beneath the latter’s shirt – there’s not going to be a time when he simply settles for the clothed exterior – and thinks of the silliest petnames. “-my sugarpie dumpling, I also did not get out of the car that night.”

Louis makes an exaggerated gagging sound. “You know how stupid that sounds?”

Harry laughs, pressing his lips to Louis’ hairline. He gets a little inebriated if he’s in physical contact with Louis for too long and who can blame him? “How stupid, baby?”

Louis shrieks a malevolent cry for aid when Harry lifts him off the ground for a trip into the bathroom. “As stupid as you are when you tell me to _calm down because it’s just a movie._ You’re a lunatic tyrant and I can’t believe you tricked me into moving in with you.”

“And you’re my lovely little fireball.” Harry sets Louis down fluidly on the counter, his bottom being the last thing he releases, and steps in between Louis’ legs. He’s wearing one of his signature weaponised smirk that’s reserved for charming funders into letting the rugby team travel to Spain. “I think we might skip the movie ‘cause I feel like we could better occupy our time.”

Louis is not so easily fooled. A little bit of that harsh resolve kind of melts when Harry dips his head to begin nibbling on the still damp skin below his ear. He’s all breathy and wanton by the time a decent bruise forms. “H-How?”

Harry sucks on the skin he’s marked, revelling in the softness between his teeth and flicks his tongue over the swelling to soothe the burn. “Thought I might do you instead. How’s that sound, kitten? Should take care of my boy first, huh?”

“Maybe.” Louis took to chewing on his lips so he didn’t have the weak will show in his gaze. He got a little squirmy at the thought of _celebrating_ their moving in together. “But I’m not that kind of girl, Styles.”

“Oh aren’t you?” Harry can be utterly shameless when he’s driven by a singular desire. The heat in his gaze provoked a sweet tingling sensation in the pit of his belly; Louis gasped when Harry fond a new patch of his skin to abuse. “I think you are, kitten. I think you’d let me do anything I wanted to you.”

Louis couldn’t help bursting into laughter when Harry’s fingertips dug into his sides, prompting every bit of his sensitivity to being tickled. He shrieked at the profound attack and squirmed fervently to escape Harry’s merciless onslaught of tickles, but to no avail. Harry wore a self-satisfied grin on his face while Louis struggled to liberate himself. He yielded after Louis’ eyes began to harbour unshed tears, a few bypassing that barrier to spill over.

“You’re a monster, Harry Styles.” Louis pouted childishly while  Harry took the liberty of wiping the wetness from his cheeks. He laid a kiss to Louis’ pursed lips thrice over with an unsuppressable smile of his own. “How could you be so mean to me? You know I hate being tickled.”

Harry could not dismount his smugness, even with Louis batting his hands away under the illusion of discontent. “You love being tickled, kitten. As long as it’s at the right time.”

Louis stuck his tongue out at the man, quickly withdrawing it when Harry leaned closer to share in a chaste peck. He was doing a deplorable job of hiding his private grin. “That _wasn’t_ the right-”

“Hush now, pretty boy. I’m sorry. Never again, yeah?” Harry grazed Louis’ cheek with his knuckles, brushing the stray chestnut locks back behind Louis’ ear. He’d done that the first time he met Louis and was a little tipsy, in need of the perfect company.

“You can make it up to me.” Louis threw his arms around Harry’s neck, preening guiltlessly at his façade.

He beckons Harry forth to connect their lips in a less than organised union. Harry tasted like the God awful celery and almonds he liked to snack on; Louis loved the trees in their quaint little world too much to eat them. He’d never say it out loud but Louis would gladly spend the rest of his life convincing Harry that mindlessly snogging like teenagers wins over living constructively.

*    *    *    *    *

“I’m thinking of going as a prince this year.” Louis voiced his thoughts as he continued braiding half the curls on Harry’s head. The other had just washed his hair and Louis thought this might be an outrageous enough statement to make.

Harry continued tapping away on his phone; he savoured the irony of granting Louis full access to his devices when the boy couldn’t care less. “For Halloween, you mean?”

“Yeah.”

“Baby, it’s only July.” Harry pointed out, void of a care for his self-preservation.

Louis punishingly tugs on one complete braid so that Harry hisses in outrage – the attacker is not impressed by Harry’s dramatics. “Who cares if it’s July, Styles?”

“Alright then, a prince.” Harry locks his phone before tossing it aside somewhere to be hunted for when they’re in a hurry to leave. He rolls over to wrap his arms around Louis’ left thigh, burying his face in the smooth, bared skin.

“How about you?” Louis prompts, characteristically nonchalant towards the man’s altered position.

“Bender.” Harry’s answer is muffled by his lips against his new pillow, his posture tranquil. “You know, Bender from the _Breakfast Club_?”

“Oh that reminds me.” Louis cares little to not jostle Harry when he scrambles closer to the bed’s edge, snatching something out of his backpack before returning. “Lisa from Chem told me they’re showing that movie at the old drive-in.”

Harry is undoubtedly intrigued when he skims over the crumpled flyer in Louis’ hands. They were hastily printed and spread across the most populated corners in their town, probably on account of the fact that their businesses are become obsolete novelties.

“This weekend?” Harry asks, reading off the smudged ink.

“Yeah.” Realisation dawns on Louis’ face when the twinkle in Harry’s eye becomes more sinister. He clambers off the bed when Harry tries to grab him, releasing an unflattering little squeal when the latter manages to yank him back. “Oh no, Styles. You can’t make me go with you.”

Harry loves aged classic films of all genres and on most days it’s an enticing quirk to find that _Jaws_ and _The Aristocats_ had more of a thrilling effect on Harry than anything of this declining generation. Louis just didn’t have the attention span for feature length movies with messed up audio and too much screaming; if people weren’t bleeding in the first twelve minutes then he didn’t care.

“Come on, baby.” Harry murmurs in Louis’ ear once he’s got the boy trapped in the circle of his arms again, swaying them unnecessarily in a gentle rhythm. “Let me take you out.”

“Fine.” Louis wasn’t going to really deny Harry when the man does more than enough to support his personal quirks. He tries to hide his grin when Harry scatters an innumerable amount of kisses along his neck. “I said I’ll go, Styles.”

“Oh I heard.” Harry is smirking when he bends to pick Louis up, dropping his boy onto the bed shortly after.

Louis puts his fingers to his lips and catcalls in scandalous admiration when Harry reaches back to pull his shirt over his head, discarding it somewhere to the left. He is left giggling manically when Harry falls gracelessly forward onto him, their limbs tangled and chests heaving from the impact.

“You’re so sexy.” Louis walks two of his fingers along the dip between Harry’s pectorals from the apex of his abs to his clavicle. He laughs without humility when Harry takes his hand to nibble on his fingertips harmlessly. “Aye Papi.”

Harry chuckles when Louis’ palms – of a significantly daintier size compared to his – are flattened on his chest when the boy arches his back upward to connect their lips. Ten minutes ago they’d been prone to hazardous boredom and now Louis is reeling his companion in between his legs, deepening their kiss with a brave teasing flick of his tongue across Harry’s lips.

“What mood is this then?” Harry bumps Louis’ cheek with the tip of his nose, wearing a soft private smile.

Louis sticks his tongue out at the man, turning away quickly to save himself from Harry’s snapping jaws leaning into him. “Mood?”

Harry is not immune to the feigned innocence conveyed through Louis’ widened baby blues; he sinks his teeth into bottom lip for some kind of grounding. He predicts his boy’s acts of retaliation before they’re carried out, and has Louis squirming indignantly against his iron grip not thirty seconds later. Louis huffs miserably when he cannot free his wrists from where they’re pinned above his head and kicking Harry’s side with his knee does nothing to liberate him.

“We should get ready to leave if we’re going to make it at all for the movie.” Harry announces after glancing at the time. He withdraws from looming over Louis’ sprawled out form with a smug expression. “How’s about a kiss, kitten?”

Louis gasps, all faux appal. He sits up with a fluid stretch that should only be as elegant on a feline – Harry allows himself a moment of self-appraisal at the convenience of his petname for the boy.

After they’re showered and Louis is waiting for Harry to pick apart his outfit choice for some obscenely logical reason. He sits cross-legged on their bed while Harry approves of his _Aerosmith_ band T-shirt as long as it is accompanied by a hoodie, and his jeans is not one which should have been thrown out ages ago. It’s not that Louis likes to be treated like a toddler but too often has he worn clothes inappropriate according to the weather or event formality which was always to his detriment.

They have to stop at a gas station to fill up the tank in Harry’s SUV before getting onto the highway, which is just fine for Louis because he takes a stroll into the convenience store for snacks he didn’t need until they became visible. Harry drinks enough water to stump Louis so the latter picks up a bottle of a familiar brand from the industrial refrigerator followed by a packet of Skittles.

Harry is fitting the bill for their petrol when Louis walks out through glass sliding doors armed with a plain plastic packet. He ignores the vivid mirth in Harry’s eye when he extracts their purchases; Louis’ been on a mission to make Harry treasure soda and other artificially sweetened beverages for as long as he can remember but has recently resigned to this fate. Harry is never going to stop cringing at the taste of root beer and Louis is not going to stop finding spinach in his dinner plate.

“Should we pick up dinner on the way?” Harry asks after a glance at his watch, pulling out from under the lewd fluorescent lights and onto the highway. “I don’t think we’ll be back early enough to eat at home.”

Louis felt a wondrous tingle in his belly that he tried not to let show in his expression. He has a _home_ now, not just a temporary residence until he gets on his feet or for his college life. Oddly enough the thought of the house in which they live now is not enough to make Louis suppress a giggly teenage girl outburst; he doesn’t hesitate to reaffirm the fact that _Harry_ is what makes it feel like home.

“Ugh.” He mutters to himself with a pout.

Harry pauses in the process of rolling down his window. “Something wrong, kitten?”

“Yes.” Louis stretches out as much as he can in his seat for no other reason than it gave him something to do. “We’re dating.”

“Hmm.” The bemusement is poorly sabotaged on Harry’s face. “This must come as much of a shock to you, I believe?”

“You suck.” Louis studies the screen of Harry’s GPS before peeling open his Skittles. “Can’t believe we’re dating, Styles.”

“Would you prefer another word?” Harry reaches over to pinch Louis’ thigh before making it the resting perch of his hand. “Courting? Wooing? Involved with?”

“I like courting.” Louis vetoes the choice. “We’re courting.”

Harry ignores the relentless attacks on his hand where it sits clasping Louis’ knee. “We’re courting, baby.”

The _Astral Place Roadhouse & Drive-In _is not only a mouthful when enunciating, but chock-a-block with people trying holding onto a dying innovation. A converted barn sat close to the entrance where it was repurposed to serve as a diner, and the screenings were a distance ahead on nothing but dried grass and dusty tar.

Since Harry decided that they should eat before it got too late, they stopped outside the diner with an abundance of buzzing patrons even though Louis’ anxiety concerning them not getting movie tickets was through the roof. All that stress had disintegrated when Louis saw that they had a mini petting zoo with baby farm animals straight out of dreams. With him leaving Harry in the dust to lean over the rickety wooden fence to talk with creatures that couldn’t understand him, Louis was not actively part of choosing their dinner.

Harry ordered the chicken nachos for Louis and steak salad for himself, figuring that anything more extravagant than water to drink was unnecessary. The wait was extensive and Harry couldn’t stand in the commotion of chattering strangers for too long so he stepped out, clutching the receipt for his order so it isn’t lost. Some known faces from their campus were also present and stopped him on his way out.

Some lads from Harry’s rugby team are here with their respective partners, claiming that this drive-in has been talked about on campus for quite some time.

“Couch flipped out on Angus yesterday in the locker room.” Ryan, the new right wing of their team, comments from across Harry in their little circle gathering.

Harry frowns confusedly. “Because he caused a scrum?”

Ryan shrugs, indicating that he was out of fact. “Suppose so.”

The prop to their team, Raghav, has something to say even as they are joined by a few of their cheerleaders. “He’s been pretty uptight lately. Can’t get a word in edgewise without him blowing up.”

“I’d talk to him if I thought it would make any difference.” Harry speaks in the firm tone of voice usually reserved for the field. “Just play the game.”

“Sure thing, Cap’n.” There’s a chorus of agreement even from those who didn’t contribute to their dispute.

Charlie, their flanker, doesn’t concede to being satisfied yet. “He hasn’t been wearing his wedding ring for the past two weeks.”

An unflattering crescendo of wolf-whistles and ignorant laughter break out in their group, from Harry’s team players and cheerleaders alike. He decides to put his foot down at their juvenile mockery.

“Now listen here.” Harry speaks as their team superior and the one who has worked to earn their respect above all else. He endorsed camaraderie and indulged in it often, but his respect for the man who made them champions is unyielding. “It’s none of your business, what the couch is going through. He yelled at one of us for a foul and that’s fine. Until he’s making us play in a cyclone with thorns for grass, we’re going to _keep our comments to ourselves._ Am I understood?”

There was no reason for the cheerleaders to nod obediently as if the reprimanding was for them, but they did nonetheless. Harry sent off his companions with awkward brotherly hugs, wrapping his faint apology up in the act.

The first thing Harry does after he’s liberated from the tense company of his team members is search for Louis, although he hardly has to move before spotting the boy. Louis is walking away from the animal pen but he isn’t alone; Harry questions his own judgment in leaving his boy alone when the silhouette of some hopeful stranger emerges beside Louis. He can tell that Louis is looking for him – or at least a way to escape the persistent individual at his back – so Harry brings his fingers to his lips and whistles, long and drawn out.

Louis’ head whips in his direction before his grimace morphs into a mischievous little grin. He jogs up to Harry from under a poorly situated streetlight until he’s at the perfect distance to break into a run. Harry hardly has time to brace himself before Louis slams into him, swiftly lifting the boy up with the inelegant momentum even with his wild laughter.

“Hi, Papi.” Louis is beaming in the most devious, unpredictable manner. He has his legs hooked over Harry’s hips and grips the man’s shoulders for some semblance of balance.

“Hey baby.” Harry gives Louis’ behind a subtle squeeze under the drapery that his larger than life hoodie. “Found a new admirer, have we?”

Louis groans with nearly obnoxious volume. “He won’t leave me alone.”

Harry presses his lips to Louis’ cheek in sympathy but also to find the guy who was after his boy earlier. He is sufficiently pleased to discover that they are no longer interested in Louis since he’s clearly taken.

“He’s gone now.” Harry gives his boy a chaste peck on his pursed lips and extinguishes Louis’ scowl by flicking the tip of his nose gently. “Enough pouting, kitten. Nobody is going to take you from me.”

“Good.” Louis frees himself until he’s standing on his own and tilts his head back to study the menu board. “Did you get me a milkshake?”

*    *    *    *    *

 _Jefferson’s B &G _has been swarming with customers for the past three hours, and showed no sign of letting up soon. All the servers were on duty which gave Angie, Gemma and Louis with an unequal number of tables to wait on; Louis and Gemma got twelve while Angie had eleven. It was exhausting and even with his most comfortable shoes on Louis felt like he might have blisters or swelling somewhere.

Tony had his younger cousin, one visiting from none other than Jamaica for a brief vacation, come in to help him keep up with the food orders. Jim held fort at the bar until Earl emerged from his office to help out as well – profit would be oozing out of these patrons if they pulled off tonight successfully.

Gemma was the one to answer their silent questions about why they were so busy after returning from taking table ten’s orders. She set her tray down with dirty dishes for the busboy to retrieve before speaking. “Apparently there’s a big game this weekend so all these folks came down from God knows where to watch.”

“Sports oughtta be a little more glamorous.” Tony commented as he slid two laden plates across to Louis, who was salting chips and gathering enough tissues. “I love a sweaty dude as much as anyone else does but sometimes it’s just plain gross.”

Angie laughs, refilling iced teas for some impatient visitors. “I don’t know if you’re saying they should shower more or play in pink and glitter.”

“Both, sugar. Both.”

Someone turns on the jukebox and people get up to dance in celebration of a match not conducted yet, making it all the more difficult to manoeuvre around them. Gemma trips half as much as Louis does but somehow they manage to not spill anything that will cost them in money or humiliation. Angie complains eight times about the hooligan college jocks at the pool tables that pass unsavoury comments at her, so Gemma and Louis tell her exactly what to say in return next time. Things simmer down after that.

Gemma breaks the finger of some daring hillbilly who grabs her behind and is shortly kicked out of the establishment. Louis high fives her on his way back to the kitchens. He himself is asked a variety of unexpected and slightly heinous questions ranging from which church he attends to whether he’d consent to visiting a local rehabilitation group; each one renders Louis puzzled.

“That’s it. We’re done for the night.” Jim announces once the last guest exits and he locks the door as their parking lot empties.

Tony walks out of the kitchen looking like he hadn’t broken a single sweat and makes his way behind the bar for a drink. “So, y’all, I got something to ask.”

“We’re all ears.” Gemma responds while occupied with tallying up her tips.

“Who ain’t free this Saturday?” He asks without further explanation, but a spineless assortment of unsure mumbles greets his question. “Seriously, you fools.”

Louis is the first to finish counting his tips and is undoubtedly giddy with the sum. “I’m available depending on why you’re asking.”

“Same.” Gemma seconds, before Angie and Jim follow her lead.

“Nah, it ain’t somethin’ weird.” Tony is uncharacteristically hesitant to say what he intends. “I want y’all at my wedding.”

Jim choked on the water he’d guzzled and Gemma dropped all the coins in her hand while everyone mirrored the same expression of lethal shock. Silence befell their company shortly after Tony’s announcement and it was thick with unspeakable confusion, some hints of betrayal.

Louis was the quickest to recover though. “You’re getting married?”

“Yeah.” Tony shrugs like he hadn’t put them all through various stages of cardiac arrest. “This Saturday too.”

“To a person?” Gemma quirks her brow like the prospect is formidable and ducks from the dishcloth that is chucked in her direction. “Being engaged has already made you so cranky.”

“You fuckers are the worst at answering a goddamn question so I’m gonna do it for y’all. If you ain’t at my big day with shiny presents and smiles, y’all are dead to me.” Tony glares at each of them in turn but that dies a quick death because Louis is suddenly hugging him as tightly as he can. He knew this was the boy’s congratulatory wishes. “Thanks sugar.”

Harry arrives to fetch Louis after an especially exhausting day but comes into the restaurant to pay everyone his regards like an eighteenth century gentleman. He congratulates Tony on his upcoming nuptials and maybe the hug they share is extended because Tony declares in jest that it’ll be the last time he can indulge in another man’s touch so Louis breaks them up.

“You ain’t gonna be a thirteen after this.” Tony warns Louis’ companion amusedly. “Enjoy it before it ain’t true no more, sugar.”

Louis dismisses such a remark with a roll of his eyes; he gives Harry a kiss once they’re out in the parking lot with just the racket of nearby crickets. “You’ll always be a thirteen to me, you know.”

“Doesn’t matter to me, kitten.” Harry opens Louis’ door for him before the boy can argue with him. “As long as you don’t plan on going anywhere.”

*    *    *    *    *

Louis’ phone is always on silent even if the occasion does not call for it so it isn’t his phone that interrupts their heated make-out session. He is astride Harry’s thighs with some unidentifiable, ridiculous music emanating from the man’s iPod docking station in the background. Somewhere between finishing up a dinner of chicken fajitas and settling down for late channel surfing, Louis had climbed onto Harry’s lap for a more memorable occupation.

They were necking like teenagers whose parents forbade them to spend time alone together until Harry’s jazz ringtone disrupted them, and Louis accidentally bit his companion’s lip. Harry hisses and curses under his breath when he tastes blood on his tongue, breaking into a chuckle afterwards. Louis apologises after it stops being hilarious.

“Sorry, honey- _Harry, no_!” Louis dives onto the couch for safety from Harry trying to tickle him, squealing with unruly laughter when the man’s fingertips dig into his sides. ‘You’re evil, Styles.”

The regret is as far from Harry’s expression as can be; he picks his phone up from the coffee table and reels Louis back onto his lap simultaneously. He pecks his boy’s forehead before answering the relentless call. “Hello?”

Louis has enough patience to allow Harry time to take the call without interrupting him; he parts from the boring conversation to retrieve some seedless grapes from the kitchen island. He sits on the sofa with a bowl of the fruit on his lap while Harry finishes up, unknowingly being tipped on his side so he’s leaning against Harry’s chest.

When Harry hangs up, he drapes his arm over Louis’ shoulder and treats the boy’s resistance with an uncoordinated bunch of kisses. Louis flicks a grape in Harry’s face to retaliate but it accomplishes nothing because the latter confiscates his grape bowl.

“Oye.” Louis cries out with a furious pout. “That’s mine.”

Harry hums with intentional ignorance before nudging Louis to lay down below him. He squeezes Louis’ derriere shamelessly through his obscenely tight underwear. “In my defence, aren’t you mine?”

“No.” Louis says like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. He giggles when Harry’s fingers pinch the skin of his belly where he is most ticklish. “Keep your hands to yourself, Styles.”

“Gemma was on the phone.” Harry diverts the topic of their conversation while settling down in the cradle of Louis’ thighs, resting his cheek on the boy’s ultra-soft and warm skin. “Said she found a new roommate.”

“Already?” Louis’ disappointment riddles the crevices of his expression.

“It’s been three months, kitten.” Harry tries not to laugh at Louis’ display of heartbreak; he has yet to discern whether the mood is genuine or feigned. “I’m happy she’s found someone to finally share in the bills for that place.”

Louis nibbles on his bottom lip. “We should go over there to meet this new person.”

Harry sighs, forfeiting his earlier hope that Louis won’t go barging into his old flat with a crown and sceptre laying out strict regulations for this newcomer. “Do we have to, kitten?”

“Obviously.” Louis cards his fingers through Harry’s curls and tugs a little too harshly. “What if they’re a psychopath or have a weird doll collection? You know Gemma hates creepy dolls.”

“Alright, alright.” Harry closes his eyes and untangles his boy’s hand from his hair to clasp it firmly. “I’ll text her and find out when we can pop by.”

“Why do we have to be so formal just because I moved out?” Louis grabbed a bunch of grapes from the discarded bowl on the floor below him. “We’re not calling to ask when we come over, Styles. We aren’t eighty years old.”

There was no probable effective way to keep Louis from pulling on a pair of shoes closest to the door and Harry finds himself following his boy into the garage. Louis lets Harry drive because in the face of chaos or calm, the latter is the safest driver he’s known; the boy is the kind of driver who ditches red lights at barren intersections and doesn’t always indicate when switching lanes.

Gemma isn’t expecting either of them by the look on her face when Louis uses his own key to enter her flat. She thinks about arguing, opens her mouth to voice her complaints but then collapses back against her couch without a word. Louis struts into the living room and plops down on the sofa’s armrest while Harry disappears into the kitchen.

“So.” Louis prompts. “Where is he?”

“Your replacement, you mean?” Gemma laughs when Louis kicks her hip before welcoming the boy alongside her on the couch. “He’s coming back on Saturday with his things.”

Harry has returned by then with a bottle of _Smartwater_ and takes a seat in the single sofa across from them. “What do you know about him?”

“He’s studying and working at some garage off the highway. I think he told me about playing a sport too.”

“Where’s he studying?” Louis is the one to ask, waking up from Gemma’s company to soon after fit himself on Harry’s lap.

The man has to sit back to accommodate Louis where he curls on him without an ounce of care to avoid bruising them. Louis’ motivation becomes apparent when he steals Harry’s water bottle to take a long swig from it.

“North Eastern State.” Gemma answers with a disinterested yawn. “Stupid private colleges and their snobbish student populous.”

Harry chuckles, trying to secure Louis against him so the boy doesn’t slip off his lap. Louis doesn’t cooperate for a whole minute until he’d tired out. “Is he snobbish?”

“You know what I mean.” Gemma glowers at her less than empathetic sibling.

Harry harbours disbelief. “I don’t think I do.”

“I do.” Louis supplies helpfully. He’s gotten himself comfortable draped across Harry’s lap and both armrests, his legs hooked over the second one so they dangled purposelessly. “I know what you mean.”

Gemma and Louis share in a fist-bump as accomplices in their private logic. Harry has long since forsaken his own efforts toward understanding his sister and boyfriend when they immersed themselves in raging conversation.

“Won’t he have quite a distance to travel everyday if he stays here?” Harry questions when the curiosity surfaces.

“Yeah but North Eastern is in the middle of nowhere. He said this is the closest he can get and avoid paying with his right arm.” Gemma replies, waking up from her sprawled out position and slides her feet into unicorn bedroom slippers. “You guys are staying over?”

“No.” Harry noticed that Louis was trying very hard to keep his yawning at bay; tears reddened the rims of his eyes and the tip of his nose was getting pinker with every second. A muffled sound of exhaustion left Louis when Harry’s lips grazed his. “Ready to go?”

“Can we have McDonalds for dinner?” Louis stood with a lazy stretch, standing on his tiptoes and cracking his knuckles well above his head. He was beaming to tempt Harry into agreeing.

“No, kitten.” Harry winked for a hint of cruel finality. He was prepared for Louis’ following argument and started walking away before Louis can begin a façade of disappointment. “I will not be changing my mind.”

Louis was _outraged_ when he fluidly manoeuvred himself onto Harry’s back, tacking on a bit more squirming than necessary so the man has to grip his thighs for balance. “You didn’t even let me pout though, Papi.”

“Because you have weaponised that pout of yours. I won’t be taking any chances.” Harry nonetheless reaffirms his grasp on the underside of Louis’ thighs, leaving the lounge sans any visible strain of carrying another person.

“How about Chinese take-out?” Louis is not surrendering his hope that Harry will let him have something greasy and unwholesome for dinner. “But not from-”

“Chinese take-out sounds perfect.” Harry agrees with as much of a devious lilt as he can muster. Two weeks ago he discovered a health-conscious Asian takeaway not two blocks away from them. Louis almost wept when he learned that they cooked with organic olive oil and minimalized the calorie intake for any of their dishes.

*    *    *    *    *

Tony’s wedding was glorious, if any of his overzealous colleagues had a say in it. Gemma and Louis have known him the longest and they put together a tiny budget for not only a bachelor party, but worked with Earl’s cooperation to host a reception. In Louis’ words, weddings didn’t have to cost much in order for it to be phenomenal.

Earl’s cousin let them have a room in his winery which is a little out of town for the bachelor party, and gladly sponsored them a few bottles of fine red wine. Gemma denounced the thought of hiring strippers before Louis could and they were glad that Tony agreed as well. His cousin from Jamaica was less thrilled.

Harry went straight to Jim and Earl with his offer to pay for the reception’s catering, because both Louis and Gemma would dethrone his kindness with the excuse that they could handle it. He wasn’t half as close with Tony as they were but Harry knew well beforehand that he’d feel miserable if he didn’t help in some way. Jim and Earl swore not to tell those who would oppose the generosity and took Harry’s cheque straight to the humble catering company.

Jim’s brother was the town Sheriff and he consented to letting one of their impounded confiscated vehicles being used as the wedding car. Of course Louis was the one who chose the Porsche 718 Boxster over the Grand Cherokee; Tony is all about glamour and deserved the flashiest ride they could find.

By Friday night, the conclusion to their bachelor party hype was too draining to be enthralling. Louis restricted himself to a glass of red wine while Harry stuck to the same glass of cognac. They exchanged the most humiliating recollections involving Tony and had him begging them to sit down after three hours.

Tony remarked drunkenly that should this marriage fail despite his _fabulously ardent efforts_ the first person he’s calling is Louis.

“Nothing’s better than being second best.” Louis raises his glass in a tribute to Tony’s proclamation, grinning bashfully at the bitter-sweet comment.

Tony downs the crisp, transparent dregs of his martini glass. “Oh no, sugar. When you get that call, I’ll be asking for your man’s number.”

Everyone at the table bursts into laughter that is easily fuelled by intoxication. Louis looks betrayed but that expression wavers not two moments later when he decides that the artificial anger is too much effort.

Harry has his arm draped over the back of Louis’ chair, serving informally as the boy’s support system whenever Louis’ posture sways toward him. He reaches out to brush Louis’ fringe out of his eyes. “With all due respect, Tony, I don’t think I can make you happy at all.”

Louis’ triumph illuminates the blue of his eyes when he tilts his head back and clumsily kisses Harry’s chin even though that is below his intended target. Harry withdraws mentally from their celebratory gathering for a moment to peck Louis’ lips chastely, smirking benevolently at the taste of wine on those swollen, rosy cushions.

“Trust you to make rejection sound charming.” Louis distractedly scratches Harry’s developing stubble; it’s a recent personal choice that is working marvellously.

By Saturday morning everything is ready for Tony’s big day. Louis only changes into his rented tuxedo when he can stall no longer and Harry is making as much of a racket as he can with his car keys as he waits impatiently by the door. Gemma rides with them and scolds Louis for his improperly set hair but since they’re in a hurry she grabs a tub of gel and neatens the boy’s quiff in the car.

The ceremony is a lot longer than Louis anticipated but he was happy to stand at the altar for its entirety. They eat, dance and pay tribute to Tony’s new path in life with embarrassingly chummy speeches. Louis remembers taking off his shoes at some point so he can cross his legs on his chair, and accepts Harry’s offer to dance before they cut into the wedding cake.

Harry isn’t sure if Louis is drunk by the time they leave the decorated hall to go home. His boy is walking two steps ahead of him with untied shoelaces and humming an indecipherable melody.

“So.” Louis stops moving altogether until Harry catches up to him, then clasps the man’s hand firmly. “Did you have fun?”

“Of course.” Harry winds his arm securely around Louis’ hips, tugging the boy back to him every time he wavers. “I’m happy for Tony.”

“Me too.” Louis concedes. He’s stopped singing but now he’s trying to climbing onto Harry’s back on account of his own laziness. “Earl has to hire a temporary cook now while Tony is in Hawaii.”

Tony hadn’t wanted a honeymoon; he felt that nobody could be as dazzling in their kitchen as him and having someone replace him would be treason. The mention of Hawaii from his spouse seemed to be enough to convince Tony that two weeks away from anything familiar or strenuous is worthwhile. None of them had met Tony’s beau, Logan, save for the three times he visited _Jefferson’s B &G _and none of them seemed to think their dating would result in something Tony was initially against.

Logan was the manager of their town’s most successful financial institution and lived by his lonesome in a mansion on the city’s outskirts. He was a warm and surprisingly timid individual who retained all the manners his mother taught him, and Louis had no issue with approving of the match.

“Ever been to Hawaii?” Louis heard himself asking Harry as they came to a halt beside their vehicle.

“Once, and I can’t remember much.” Harry replies. “You want to go, kitten?”

Louis’ nose scrunched up in conflict. “It’s really hot there.”

“You can spend all day at the beach then.” Harry suggests. “I’ll take you to Hawaii soon enough.”

“And I’ll take you to Germany. They have the Berlin Wall, you know.”

*    *    *    *    *

Louis had his little bag of chicken hotwings and when that was true he cared little for anything happening around him. He knows that Harry only bought him hotwings because he didn’t want an argument to break out over the call they’d just received. For now, Louis will refrain from any screaming.

Harry has dated two people since he bothered to consider entering a relationship and his ex is, in Louis’ expert opinion, an ungrateful and undeserving fool. Ana was raging drug addict who kept her habit under wraps for the six months she was with Harry until she unexpectedly ended things with him. Harry didn’t love her and he doesn’t need to convince anyone of that; he has grown beyond her crippling companionship and accepted early in the relationship that she was toxic to him.

Now however, Ana called Harry after claiming that she spent weeks trying to find him. She wanted to apologise for the way she behaved and took him for granted, if only to make things right between them. While Louis thought she was being unnecessarily inconvenient by bringing up a skeleton from a forgotten past, Harry thinks she deserves just a few minutes of his day to ease her own grief.

“How are your hotwings?” Harry sat across from Louis on the couch, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees.

Louis was bundled up irreversibly with a patriotic quilt and his remaining four chicken pieces. His mouth was a little greasy and his nose had turned pink from the spiciness but nothing compared to the degree of his sour glare. “Shut up.”

“Baby.” Harry thought he still could get hit with a chicken bone so he didn’t try to do more than grasp Louis’ chilly socked feet from under the covers. “I know you trust me more than this.”

“I do.” It was true; Louis would let Harry hold him by a single finger whilst swaying towards a ledge because he _knew_ the latter will find a way to keep him safe. “I don’t like that she’s bringing all this up after so long. What is she hoping to achieve?”

“Maybe she just wants to clear the air.” Harry kissed Louis’ kneecap because it’s the only bit of bare skin within reaching distance. “I don’t think that’s so bad.”

“You’ve forgiven her already, haven’t you?” Louis just wants to make sure. Undoubtedly, he is uncomfortable with this arrangement but drugs do things to people – _cruel_ things – which they don’t deserve or their dwindling willpower cannot save them from. However their road to destruction began, he believes that anyone is worthy of the chance to make things better in the end.

Harry gave his boy a wry smile, weak but honest. “Of course I have.”

Louis flashed Harry a timid grin before leaning forward with puckered lips. He gets his a kiss from his strapping housemate even though there are traces of his snack on his mouth. “As long as you’re back by dinnertime.”

“Baby I’m not going to be gone for that long anyhow.” Harry chuckles. He’s already settled down between Louis’ legs for the boy’s belly to serve as a warm, scented pillow. “Two hours tops.”

“Alright.” Louis squirms until the quilt they share is reorganised to its prior glory. “What time does she want to meet?”

“Noon.” Harry is sighing as if the thought of leaving his home to meet this woman is miserable as it is. As much as Ana deserves an opportunity to apologise, Harry is a firm believer in his personal right to be hesitant towards her reconciliation attempt. “Think you can stay busy while I’m gone?”

“I’m going to Gemma’s.” Louis simply responds, licking his thumbs. “She promised to buy me pizza if I helped her set up the surround sound on her new telly.”

When Harry goes into the bathroom in preparation of taking his leave, he is tastefully interrupted by Louis entering the shower as well. His boy is mildly disinterested at first; Louis hums and lathers the body gel in his pastel blue loofa like Harry wasn’t staring fixatedly at his dripping nude form. It doesn’t end with such vile separation however which is essentially all that matters. Harry takes over for dragging silvery soap suds across Louis’ skin, leaving a kiss wherever he can to compensate for his impending absence soon.

Louis gasps and jumps out of his hold when Harry dares to venture below his waist, but his scandal is sabotaged by his lip-biting assailant pressing him against the tile. Something must have been at the tip of his tongue when their contrasting, tempered gazes met across their notable height difference. Harry annihilated all hope of a protest by crashing his lips into Louis’ and dipping two fingers into the boy’s most private crevice.

Obeying their impulsive urges and taking Louis for his own, turned out to be an unfortunate plan because his boy is always a little heady after sex. Harry has to carry him out of the water’s spray and into their bedroom where he laid Louis out on their bed, damp and preening. He let Louis overcome the sensitivity and dull aches of such an aftermath, winking at the boy whenever he walked out of the closet wrestling with an item of clothing.

“Hey Harry?” Louis was restless in his seat. They were late but being on the road already gave them hope.

“Oh dear. We’re using first names now?” The one driving was lit up with mirth at his mocker, none of that visibly escaping when Louis punches his bicep with no strength at all.

“I was going to ask, do you think Ana chose somewhere public so you won’t yell at her?”

Harry’s brow furrows with the depth of Louis’ question. “Why are you thinking about that?”

“Dunno. Just am.”

“Well, maybe she did.” Harry shrugs, removing one hand from the steering wheel to push back the stray curls threatening to block his vision. “I wasn’t going to yell at her anyway.”

“You’re so sweet.” Louis reaches over the console to pinch Harry’s cheek.

His victim brightens at Louis’ teasing, angling his head just the slightest to his left so he can nip at Louis’ fingers. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. Sweet like jam.” Louis verbally ponders, distractedly tweaking Harry’s bottom lip between his fingers.

“I do need to drive, kitten.”

“I’m thinking strawberry jam.” Louis retracts his hand and sits back, fidgeting with his restrictive seatbelt. He hates how it renders the illusion of cutting up the side of his neck and plastering him painfully to his seat. “Do we have jam at home?”

“You hate eating jam.” Harry points out. “By the way, where did those honeycrisp apples in the fridge come from?”

Louis wished in moments like these he hadn’t overcome his agitated habit of biting his nails. “How would I know, Styles? You’re the healthnut.”

Harry is smirking to himself. If there’s any fruit Louis has come to tolerate it would be apples but even so, he never bothered to purchase a bag of them on his own. “I told you not everything that’s good for you tastes awful.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Styles. Butternut is still gross.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Ttttthhooouuuggghhhtttttsssss maybe?
> 
> I've been trying to make my friends call me princess and it's not going as initially planned.


End file.
